


I've missed you

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: IT Fanfics [18]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bill has a bad time, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Scarification, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 10:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20599175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: “I’ve missed you, Billy,” It said, the grin audible in It’s voice. It’s free hand twisted into his hair and drew him close enough for its long, slimy tongue to rove over the moisture on his cheek. It purred deep in It’s gullet as it swallowed.After the Funhouse scene, It decides to take advantage of Bill being exactly where It wants him.





	I've missed you

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, it's been a hot minute since I've written for this fandom! Good to be back and traumatising Bill again.

Bill smelt the sewer. The damp, gritty filth of it, and it was impossible to tell if it originated from Pennywise or if enough feet had passed through the Funhouse to emulate the smell. Whatever its origin, the association it had to the barrens, to _It_, had Bill's chest tightening and his breaths taking on a laborious quality, which was an inconvenient thing to have happen while on a chase. Had Eddie been present, he probably would have asked for a puff of his ventilator. 

He ignored the ache in his chest as he belted through the maze of mirrors, moving as fast as the narrow passages would permit. He needed to find the boy. He needed to grab him, guide him out of this place, and implore him to get as far away from Derry as possible, because It wouldn't follow Dean beyond the borders of this city. 

The maze was trickier to navigate than it should have been; evidence of It's tampering, but he followed the boy doggedly, steadily closing the distance between them. He was so happy upon finding the boy standing at a dead end that he could have cried from relief.   
  
“Kid!” Miraculously, there was no sign of Pennywise; it looked like _he’d_ been the one to find them first. “Kid-!”

It wasn’t a mirror that he hit this time, but glass, and it shook violently as he slammed his jaw into it but otherwise provided no give. Bill was undeterred by the flash of pain, only briefly cradling his jaw before turning his attention to the boy. They appeared unsettled by his sudden appearance, which was fair enough. He hadn’t exactly made a great first _or_ second impression.  
  
“Hey.” He spoke gently so to not unsettle the boy, but they still looked at him reproachfully, their brow furrowed.  
  
“What’re you doing here?” he asked, sounding as reproachful as he looked.  
  
“I’m gonna- I’m gonna get you out of here,” Bill said, trying for a placating tone, which was difficult to achieve while one’s voice was so tremulous. He stepped back in preparation to launch himself at the barrier, and he didn't manage to take a single step before the glide of _something_ over glass diverted his attention.  
  
He knew immediately who - or what, rather - the source was, even before his gaze fell upon those gleaming ethereal eyes. The dread that surged through him was nauseating in its intensity. It gripped him about the heart, sent his pulse fluttering wildly in his neck, and frankly it was surprising he didn't end up keeling over from it.  
  
“No,” he whispered, raising his hands to the barrier and pressing himself flat against it, as though he might be able to slip through and reach the boy. “_Please_. I’m here, just take me.”  
  
Dean looked between them, confused and unsettled, and gasped in alarm when It struck its head against the glass. Once, twice, and then Bill began following suit, slamming himself into the barrier as hard as he could. A spiderweb of a crack was already present where It was striking, while his own panel remained completely intact. He didn't let himself be discouraged; he kept on pummelling it with everything he had, throwing his shoulders into it and slamming it with his fists and kicking with his feet. The assault made his body ache horribly, but he didn't care.

It only stopped once that spiderweb of cracks extended far up the length of the glass panel. Bill spread his hands over the barrier, his short, panic breaths misting the surface, and watched as It’s lips parted to unveil a set of jagged teeth.

The boy was whimpering. Bill couldn’t look away. Couldn’t bring himself to have the boy’s final moments go unwitnessed.

Bill would never forget that cry, nor the splatter of blood that rose up as It feasted. He ran his fingers over the glass and he felt threadbare and pulled taut, in the process of snapping under his despair. He didn’t notice he had begun to weep until the tears were gathering under his chin and dropping off onto the floor. 

It was a long time before he looked down. The floor was stained with viscera and blood. No clothes, no body, nothing that made the remains identifiable as having once belonged to a child. The parents would have nothing left to bury, just like- just like with Georgie. He’d failed again, and the tears came faster as this thought hooked itself into his mind. The sobs that ripped out of his throat were hard and hiccuping, like those of a child, and he felt young again as he stood there, a thirteen year old who was weak and pitiable and had failed in his duty as a big brother.

Dean was dead because he hadn’t been fast enough, strong enough. He’d failed. He’d _failed._

When he felt fingers close around the nape of his neck, he didn’t initially resist. This was what he deserved, after all. There was redemption in death. A little longer and he would have lay there, let it happen, but then the clown laughed in clear abject joy and anger flooded Bill with killing intensity. He shoved against the great weight at his back, snapping his elbows into It’s chest and kicking at its shins with his feet. It grunted its shock and Bill caught a flash of angry orange before he was being shoved hard against the glass, his chin jarring against it with enough force that it was miraculous he didn’t end up with a broken jaw.

He continued to writhe in It’s grip even as it’s chest pressed flush against his back and its fingers curled around his hands, pinning them easily against one of his hips.

“I’ve missed you, Billy,” It said, the grin audible in It’s voice. It’s free hand twisted into his hair and drew him close enough for its long, slimy tongue to rove over the moisture on his cheek. It purred deep in It’s gullet as it swallowed.

“Fuck you!” he snarled. “Fuck you, you sss-son of a bitch!” He continued his struggling to no avail, pushing himself hard into the clowns chest and succeeding only in making his back ache from the strain.

“Such a warm welcome.” It laughed against his skin. The chill of its breath elicited a shiver. “You couldn’t save Georgie, you couldn’t save Dean- do you think your friends would survive a fight with me? What do you think their chances are?” It’s teeth grazed his ear and Bill jolted, jaw tightening in alarm. Just a touch of pressure and It’d be able to rip the appendage right off. “They’re all going to die and it’ll be your fault.”

“I’ll kill you yourself,” he said, which was quite the claim considering It could snap his neck right here, right now, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. It seemed to recognise what a foolish assertion this was, since It let out a bellowing laugh and dug its fingers painfully into his scalp.

“You can try," It murmured, running It’s hand down and away from his hair, palm sliding over the slope of one of Bill's shoulders. “I _want_ you to try.”

It’s fingers slid smoothly over his chest, reaching beneath his shirts. For all his bravado, Bill couldn’t stifle the way his flesh paled and developed goosebumps as thick black talons emerged from It’s gloves and raked down his clavicle.

“I’ll shove a pole so far down your throat it’ll come out your ass,” he hissed, voice shaking. “It’ll be l-like before.”

It guffawed. “You couldn’t reach.” The point of those talons grazed the dip of his collarbones. “Earth’s mightiest warrior, are you, _Little_ Buddy? There are eleven-year old’s bigger than you.”

“Was b-barely older than eleven when I _beat you_ the first time.”

Apparently It didn’t appreciate being reminded of that, since it snaked its hand into the depths of his shirt and raked its nails over the flat of a pec. Bill gasped at the shock of agony and attempted to wrench away from it, arching his back, but It held too firm for him to escape. Blood bloomed like a rose on his shirt.

“Yet I live. And I will live, and live, and live…” The talons retreated briefly, only to begin cutting anew a few inches away from the first wound. Tears gathered in Bill’s eyes, this time from the pain, and he tried blinking them away to no success. “Do you want to know where I live? I could show you. Oh, it's so vast and dark, and you would never find the end of that dark, Little Buddy! I could _show_ you.”

“Sh-shuu-shut up!“ The demand scraped out of his throat, ragged and high. The pain was making intelligible speech nigh impossible. It was digging as far as it could reach, its talons ripping through flesh and muscle and gliding across bone, and Bill probably would have keeled over from the agony had It not been holding him upright. It took every bit of willpower he had not to scream- though he couldn’t help the whimpering, nor the periodic moan.

After several minutes of work, the tearing of flesh slowed. Bill knew It was drawing this out, savouring his pain. It tended to kill It’s victims fast once It had them ensnared, but clearly Bill was an exception.

It began to hum, and its jovial tune was so incongruous with the viciousness of what It was doing that Bill might have laughed had he the breath for it.

The blood that wasn’t soaked up by his shirt trailed down over the curve of his pectorals, dipping into the crevice beneath them before being spread about his stomach by Bill’s quivering. It took a very long time for It to finish. Or at least, it felt like it did, and once those fingers drew away Bill couldn’t help turning boneless in relief.

An obscene slurping sound reached his ears, and he knew It was licking Its fingers clean. “Beautiful, tasty Billy,” It said, smacking Its lips. “That wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.” Before Bill could fully register the implications of this comment, It had spun him around and slammed his shoulders into the wall, its hand grasping the hem of his shirt and shoving it up under his chin. 

“Stop!” was the first thing out of his mouth. It was involuntary. He knew full well It wouldn’t withdraw just because he asked it to.

It snickered and pressed its legs against Bill to keep him firmly in place. “Does it hurt that much?”

Bill kept his mouth shut, willing his bottom lip not to tremble.

To his surprise, It didn’t rip into him with its talons again. Instead it hunched over, lowering itself until they were eye to eye – and it was tall enough that there was a substantial distance for it to descend. Bill turned his face away in anticipation of sting of teeth or perhaps the tongue, but it only remained at eye level briefly before dropping even lower. What exactly it was doing didn't become clear until it's mouth closed over one of his wounds. Not deepening it through the application of its teeth, but lathing the flat of its tongue over the mutilated flesh and cleaning away the red in great swipes. It didn’t hurt. In fact, the chill of its tongue was soothing, if in a distinctly revolting way. Bill, of course, absolutely hated it.

A low, rumbling sound of satisfaction rose from It as it steadily worked Its mouth over Bill’s chest. It was hard not to notice the softness of its lips, a strange contrast considering how hard and unyielding the rest of it was. It’s palm pressed hard against his clavicle when he tried to squirm out from under its ministrations and this was effective in bringing an end to his struggling. With no means to escape, Bill simply had to watch while it steadily cleaned away the mess it had created.

Each swipe of its tongue unveiled a little more of the wound beneath, and Bill realised that It hadn’t simply been scratching him; It’d written something. He made out an ‘M’ and a ‘B’ before It noticed what he was doing and tutted in disapproval.

“Not yet.”

The lights abruptly went out. The dark that fell was so complete that Bill might as well have had his eyes closed for how little he could see. But he was only in this darkness for perhaps a moment before It’s eyes flicked up, bringing with it an arcane glow that lit up It’s face. It smiled, displaying its toothy maw, then leaned down again and swiped its lips over the curve of a pectoral. Bill shivered. His heart was thudding wildly in his chest and he was sure there was colour developing on his face despite the panicked pallor he’d been wearing previously.

The hand on his clavicle rose up, releasing his shirt in favour of curling around his neck and pressing him against the glass. His throat bobbed against It’s palm. There was enough pressure to be uncomfortable, but not to asphyxiate him.

The licking resumed and by now there had to be little blood left to clean off, but It was still going, still rumbling It’s approval with every swipe of its tongue. Pinned so thoroughly as he was, there wasn’t anything Bill could do about it. He had little choice but to stand there, shivering and whimpering, while it indulged in his blood.

It was a relief when it finally eased its grip on his throat. His knees almost buckled as it released his wrists and retreated a step.

“A little reminder, Billy,” It said, voice loud in the silence of the Funhouse.

The moment he found his feet, he was stepping toward it with his arms at his sides, hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Good sense dictated that he run the other way, but Bill possessed no such sense, and he had every intention of initiating a fight upon closing the distance between them. “I-“ He swallowed hard. “I hate you. I _hate_ you.”

“Good.”

A blink and it was gone.

The lights flicked back into life. Bill startled, glancing around, and he did a double-take when he found the remains of the child absent. There wasn't as much as a drop of blood to indicate where Dean had gone; or at the very least, he wasn’t able to see anything. Perhaps children would be able to. Adulthood, he knew, had made him weaker and more susceptible to It’s tricks.

When he glanced down at himself, he saw that his shirt, too, had been rid of its stain. He shakily peeled it away from his skin and turned to look at himself in a mirror, swallowing in anticipation of what he might see.

MY LITTLE BUDDY.

_It’s_ buddy. It considered him property, and what a terrifying realisation that was.

He shoved the shirt down and pressed his back up against a mirror, taking a deep, centring breath. As a small mercy, adrenaline prevented him from wholly feeling the pain. There was no ignoring the hot throb of it entirely, but it was distant compared to what he _could_ be feeling. 

He pushed off the mirror and ran shakily for the exit, and he wondered what he was going to do about the boy, about his parents, how he was going to ensure they wouldn’t spend months _hoping_ fruitlessly just like he had. His fingers curled into his shirt, over the words It had driven into his skin, and all the plans he concocted seemed impossible as he traced them with his fingers. In all likelihood, he wouldn’t emerge from Neibolt alive. Maybe there was nothing he could do for them – for anyone – at all, and wasn’t that just predictable.

But the encroaching hopelessness didn’t matter; he would still try. Inaction was worse than failure, worse than any death It could deliver him. He had to do something, anything, to try to rid the world of It, and if that meant forfeiting his life, then so be it.

_Or something worse_, his mind provided, recalling It's words, but he wasn't afraid of what that meant. If he failed again, whatever It did to him would only be just. It was he, after all, who had sent Georgie out alone on that cold winters day, he who had facilitated his death. 

He had failed to protect Georgie just like he had failed to protect Dean, and there would be atonement for both in whatever he experienced in Neibolt.


End file.
